Loki's footsteps had taken him back out of the mountains, down to the side of a raging river. The tumult matched the still turbulent emotions that had him feeling emotionally wrung out and exhausted. His time in the mountains had done little to ease his guilt, and it was just as well he felt guilty because he was clearly in the wrong, a monster who had injured and defiled something pure simply because he had daddy issues.
He stared with brooding eyes into the foaming water. A branch tumbled by, flipped end over end as the water smashed it against rocks and carried it along it's path. Loki found himself wondering what would happen if a wolf were to find itself in those icy waters. If, say, that wolf were to have the sort of family who wouldn't even miss him, that wolf might be tumbled the length of Alacratia before anyone found it again.
Something pulled him from his dark thoughts. Not a sound, because he wouldn't have been able to hear over the rapids, but a very familiar scent washed over him and he took a moment to, rather dispiritedly, try to place it without bothering to turn around and look.
